


How to Train/Love Your Cor

by Septembre_Rain (Zyrielle)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BAMF Weskham, Chocolate, Cid is awesome, Clarus breaks down, Clarus is a big softie, Cor doesn’t let go, Cor is an annoying little shit, Cor learns to become a BAMF, Dadbros, Hurt/Comfort, Not Shippy, Other, everyone loves cor, no ships, warchild - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 22:09:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18508057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zyrielle/pseuds/Septembre_Rain
Summary: They weren’t always the close-knit band of brothers. They had to start somewhere.A story of how each of the Dadbros get close to the prickly teenage Cor Leonis whilst on their own road trip around Eos.





	1. CID

**Author's Note:**

> Regis, Clarus, Cid and Wesk already know each other. 
> 
> How do they breach the gap and get close to their newest, prickliest, surliest member?
> 
> Here’s how. 
> 
>  

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cid discovers something about Cor in the shop of a gasoline station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cid Sophiar, mechanic extraordinaire, chocolate lover, and Cor advocate, at your service.

** CHAPTER 1 **

** CID **

 

 

It started with raids of the shops and marts at the gasoline station.

 

Cid was often there to check for car parts and trinkets and to chat up the local mechanics that hung around.

Wesk didn't stay long after purchasing the necessary curatives, ingredients, and other miscellaneous stuff they needed on missions.

Regis would stick around for a while, then head off to the restaurant for a bite before retreating into the hotel or camper.

Clarus went wherever Regis went, fussing, poking, trying to get as much exercise in as possible between all of them.

Regarding their youngest, nobody really knew where he went when he wasn't tailing any of them, but he was always present for meal times and when it was time to turn in for the night.

 

They didn't need to keep close watch or track of what the others were doing when they were in stopovers or towns.

They were often tired from traveling or hunts or retrieving royal arms or facing imperial troops and daemons. Here, they could relax. 

  
Cid was a bit surprised to see Cor in the minimart standing in front of a rack of chocolate bars, studying them with the intensity that rivaled Wesk's in a game of chess, or Clarus while reading those sordid romances that he liked to think no one knew about.

 _He's been there a while_ , Cid notes before deciding to do something about it.

  
  
He walks up to the boy, looking at his choices. He picks up his favorite from the rows on display.

  
  
"This one's the best of the lot if you ask me. My treat." 

Cid tears a pack open and offers it to Cor. 

Cor takes it and bites into the gooey bar. 

  
"Rice crispies, marshmallow, and salty caramel-predictable for you, old man. Teeth getting weak?"   


 

Cid doesn't stop the laugh that escapes his throat.   
  
"So what if it is kid, wanna make something of it?"   


Cor snickers and finishes eating the bar as an answer.   
  
"Whatcha doin' anyways, staring at that chocolate like it offended you?"   
  
"I haven't tried a lot of these-i mean I don't see them in the other shops, in the other stations."   
  
"Yeah kid, all these areas got their own special edition chocolate."   
  
"I see that now." Cor says wistfully, eyeing the Lestallum special chocolate bars.

All of them boasted some sort of honeycombe combination-probably from the multitude of killer bees they had to eliminate on the way here.   
  
Cor picks at the display and takes out three bars.   
  
"Just three?" Cid asks, noting that there are at least twelve types specific to Lestallum.   
  
"It's all I can buy for now." Cor shrugs. He takes them to the counter, digging deep into his pockets for sufficient change.   
  
Something on the display cabinet catches his eye. It was blue and shiny.   
  
"What's that?"   
  
The cashier follows his line of sight.   
  
"Oh those? They're Cactuar figurines. This one's the Cactuette of Mortar, available only here in Lestallum."   
  
"How much is it?"   
  
"800 Gil sir. You want one?" The young cashier chirps.   
  
Cor deflates a fraction, a twitch of a muscle-it's barely  noticeable for most people, but Cid isn't most people. Cid notices.   
  
"Nah. Just this." Cor takes the chocolate and nods to Cid before heading out. 

  
It's been a while, Cid thinks, since he's seen an expression on Cor's face that wasn't fury, a scowl, or the mask of nameless emotion that he wore when killing something. 

 

It has always bothered Cid, that Cor acted, talked, and fought like someone at least 20 years his senior. Cid had been a kid once. At 15, he was hanging around his dad's garage, skipping school, playing games, being rebellious, fooling around with friends, exploring teenage things-Cor had none of these.

 

Cid still sometimes threw up after hunts or skirmishes with Imperials, but nothing ever fazed Cor. It was so wrong, just so wrong that someone as young as Cor was so used to the ugliness of fighting and war that sometimes Cid lost the contents of his stomach to that thought alone. 

  
It was so unfair, the hand life dealt Cor. Cid would punch Niflheim in the face, punch the gods in the face one by one, if it would make things right. 

  
Cor was the youngest, but he had seen the most, fought the most, and bled the most.

Cor had the least out of all of them, but he also lost the most, home, family, childhood, innocence-everything taken from him.

He always fought each battle as if it were his last, like he had nothing left to lose.

It bothered everyone, not just Cid. They all wanted to to address it, but how could they when he had the seniority that they didn't have in the battlefield and overall the war? It was only a matter of time, he knew, before one of them said something. But for now, now he had something to work with. 

  
It was so refreshing, seeing a side of Cor that was human and so childlike. It felt private, as if none of them were meant to see it, and he was so fortunate, to be at the right place at the right time. 

  
The stirrings of something squeezed in his chest as the feeling was born, spreading like a fire and blooming like a flower.   
  
Cid already had the resolve, he just lacked the means-until today. 

  
The cashier looked up to see Cid leaning over the counter, a thoughtful expression on his face.   
  
"What will it be today?"   
  
"A box each of all the Lestallum chocolates, and that 'purdy blue Cactuette you got up there. In exchange, I'll repair that generator motor your mechanic can't fix."   
  
"Really sir? That'd be great and all, but I've been told that it'll take a miracle to get that thing running again."   
  
"Let me introduce myself. Cid Sophiar, royal mechanic extraordinaire, at your service."   


  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

  
  
If Cor notices or minds that chocolates keep finding their way into his pockets after battles, he doesn't say a word.   
  
And because he doesn't say anything, neither does Cid.   


The first time Cor found them was something he would never forget.

  
It was sundown and they had just finished a nasty hunt and when they were descended upon by a party of MTs. They crawled back to the car and Wesk drove them 30 minutes to the closest haven as the rest of them dozed. The town proper was at least 2 hours away and the sun was already halfway under the horizon.   


The kid pulled the intruding treat from his pocket, surprised as he knew the chocolate had not been there previously. Cor only looks at Cid once, fingers grasping the colorfully wrapped bar, all shiny and crisp.   


Cid attempts to feign innocence by asking. 

"Whatcha got over there squirt?"   
  
Cor's eyes narrow at the nickname, but it lacked the usual fury behind it.   
  
"I... It's chocolate." He says softly and looks at it as if expecting it to grow legs. "I haven't tried this one yet."   
  
Cid just shrugs and ruffles his hair fondly.   
  
Cor slaps his hand away, unused to receiving such gestures of affection. (Not yet anyways)   
  
Regis' ears perk up as he holds out his hand. "Gimme."   
  
Cor glares at him. "No way."   
  
Regis looks at him like he's just kicked a chocobo chick into a pit of molten lava.   
  
"You dare refuse me?"   
  
Cor looks at Regis dead in the eyes, opens the wrapper and takes a bite.   
  
"Why you little-" Regis pounces at Cor, who leaps away just in time and scrambles up a tree.   
  
"Did that just happen?" Clarus whistles.   
  
"Kid's scrawny and quick as a cat. I ain't surprised." Cid chuckles.   
  
"I swear it's like we have two rambunctious children instead of the crown prince and his prodigy of a bodyguard." Weskham sighs.   
  
"Let the kid be a kid Wesk, he deserves a break every once in a while." Cid chides.   
  
"What's your excuse for his Highness?" Clarus grunts.   
  
"His Highness has a lot on his plate too. All with this trip shoved down our throats and the child his Majesty picked up from Six knows where."   
  
"It ain't the kid's fault Wesk. He's- this war, it's fucked so much up for him, and-" Cid doesn't continue but instead looks at him with eyes pleading for the other man to understand what he couldn't say.   
  
"You're soft on him."   
  
"Someone's gotta be, Clarus. Kid like that shouldn't be fighting this damn war."   
  
They stop speaking as they watch Regis catch a foot and yank Cor downwards, resulting in a tangled pile of limbs. They continue to wrestle as Regis searches Cor's pockets while Cor half-heartedly tries to get away, afraid of hurting the prince.   
  
"I'm glad you care about him the way you do. He needs it."   
  
"We'll do what we can to help."   
  
"Of course you shits are."   
  
... 

  
"Tell me where you're hiding the rest of the chocolate you little rebel."   
  
Cor steals a glance at Cid, who at the moment seems to be having a serious conversation with Clarus and Wesk.   
  
"Never gonna tell, you royal pain in the butt."   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much much much love to Wisp for beta-ing my work and putting up with my shenanigans.
> 
>  
> 
> Say hello, leave a comment.  
> Tell me your toes are covered in jam and heels dipped in peanut butter.


	2. CLARUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarus just wanted to bridge the gap damnit.

**CHAPTER 2**

**CLARUS**  

  
  
Clarus didn't want to give it any more thought than necessary.

  
  
He was a boy-a child.

  
  
He was a victim of war-but so is a huge percent of the population. Clarus was also a strong believer that men made their own destinies, despite their pasts, circumstances, premeditated prophecies and the gods' meddling ways.

  
  
The last thing he wanted was to treat someone like a victim or make them live up to unrealistic expectations and pressure them to do something they weren't ready for.  And thus, Clarus took people as they were and would try get to know them his own way. Gossip and hearsay would be taken with a grain of salt until it gets the Clarus treatment.

Digging up secrets, pasts, blackmail and subterfuge was more Weskham's style anyway. Really, being out in the open and honest was how Clarus liked to do things. Say what you mean, and mean what you say.   
  
That is why dealing with Cor is both easy and difficult. Cor is a 42 year old soldier stuck in the body of a 15 year old boy.

Easy because Cor was just as honest, if not more than Clarus himself. Even if what he said always hurt because they were true, because he knew so much more about the truths of war than they did, because he'd already experienced them firsthand.

Difficult because they shouldn't be coming from a teenager and also because the boy rarely spoke of anything else. For most other things, the boy communicated with his actions.

He carried himself like a shadow behind Regis. Not speaking unless spoken to, displayed no emotions, he didn't express his own desires and treated himself as expendable. He was loyal to a fault, and resolute to a point of bullheadedness. He never deviated or failed any mission given to him, no matter how bloody or difficult it was.

Clarus often felt the need to stuff a chair, an arm,  and a sword down the King's and the General's throat for the types of missions they gave the boy. He was a perfect soldier-if performance was the only thing to go by.   
  
Clarus honestly thought this trip was good for the boy. They could get away from the ugliness of court and politics. Also this way he could get to know Cor as he was appointed as Regis' bodyguard. Clarus was miffed at first. Regis already had a shield, what would he need a bodyguard for? But then again, backup was always a good thing to have, so he took it in stride.

Clarus was determined NOT to antagonize the boy, and to form a connection of some sort. It was important after all to foster camaraderie if they were going to be working so close together.   
  
Cor however, made things anything but easy. He was always guarded, even in his sleep. It was painful, to see Cor suffering from his nightmares in the close quarters of the tent. Sometimes he'd insist on sleeping outside, but they'd still wake from his screams.

Whenever any of them would offer to talk about it, he would simply withdraw further into himself.

 

Getting to know Cor was like trying to breach the wall of Lucis, but Clarus was determined-and patient. Cid had at least made some headway and was inching-slowly, but surely, towards a better relationship with Cor.   
  
So far the only opportunities he had to get close the boy was during exercises early in the morning, in the back of the Regalia-Cid and Wesk would take turns driving so both sat in front, and out getting bloody in the battlefield.

Half of the time in the car, the boy was asleep, leaning on their equally asleep prince, the other half, he was staring off into space and was rarely responsive. It wouldn't do too well to make too much noise or jostle around the car since Regis was a downright pain to deal with when his sleep was interrupted. So, no go on that.

Then there were early mornings, while exercising. Cor was often up early, either because he was unable to return to sleep due to a nightmare, or because of the sounds and smells of Wesk making breakfast. That would explain the car naps. Sometimes he would sleep in and they were all too willing to let him rest.

Regis was always the last one to get up anyways.   
  
Cor never refused an invitation to practice or to spar. It kept them both sharp and limber. But still, Cor was anything but open, regardless of Clarus' attempts at conversation-he just couldn't breach the gap.

It was like talking to an MT soldier-one who had been programmed to respond with "yes sir", "no sir", or "I'll do better next time". Clarus became increasingly dry and sarcastic, but no matter what jabs he threw, nothing.

It even took Wesk or Cid to elbow him in the ribs or give him a disapproving look to stop. He was starting to get frustrated, but he wouldn't give up.   
  
The chance finally came, in the worst possible time and the worst possible situation-if one would even dare to call it an opportunity. It was the last option, the one that Clarus never considered-at the battlefield.

  
  
At this point in time, Clarus and Cor already had a good feel of how the other fought-their early morning practice sessions helped with that. Cor was swift in movement, agile and deadly in his attacks, whereas Clarus focused mainly on defense but when necessary, gave devastating but slow blows.

Most of the time, they made a darn good team, often in sync. But then, there was another thing that went unaddressed in this rag-tag team of adventurers: Cor's lack of self preservation.

 

Both Shield and Cor always stayed near Regis, it was a feat in itself given that the king could warp everywhere. In case they were separated, the priority was always to locate the prince and stay by his side no matter what, guarding his back.

Cor could pull Regis out of trouble or out of the way of incoming attacks while Clarus could block them head on. Wesk and Cid focused on strategy and offense, Cor helped doing major damage when Regis was secured at Clarus' side. 

  
Now, as things go and by the laws of the universe, plans and strategies never go swimmingly as they were supposed to. They were out in a hunt, fighting an Ayakashi that the hunters couldn't take down. The target only came out at night. What they and not expected was the Bussemands, Ereshkigals and red giant had spawned in the same area.

 

Weskham had called for a tactical retreat, but they were surrounded and were way too thick in the fighting to do so. The had to last it out, as the Ayakashi was likely the reason the others were gathered here too. That and none of them wanted to come back do over.

 

So it became a careful balancing act of trying to eliminate the smaller quicker enemies first while dodging and parrying blows from the bigger, slower daemons.

Wesk and Cid were making quick work of the Ereshkigals, but were taking a bit more time with the Bussemands.

Cor and Regis were trying their best to take down the red giant as Clarus defended.

They were all keeping one eye on the Ayakashi who seemed to be content with watching-for now. 

  
Regis was caught in the giant's gravity sphere when the Ayakashi finally decided to join in the fray. The giant was on its last legs, so Clarus told Cor to help Cid with the Bussemands.

Clarus was about to deliver a few final blows when the Ayakashi unsheathed it's impossibly long sword, a streak of purple glowing in the darkness. It crouched into position, targeting the prince.

 

Now it was ingrained into Clarus' very being, that Regis was his priority and should be defended at all costs. He could run over to Regis' side and block the strike, but then the giant would get up and wreak merry hell with its orbs.

So as his giant broadsword sank into the giant's side, Clarus called out "Cor! Get Regis-".

 

Turns out he didn't need to-the boy was already moving. Clarus would later reflect on this very moment and tell himself that he could have blocked it-should have blocked it. But it all happened so fast and the only one quick enough to act on it was Cor.

 

And that's how they saw him moments later, once the purple haze faded. Regis on the ground, a bit roughed up but otherwise umharmed, Clarus standing over the body of a giant fading into black smoke, and Cor, limply hanging from the edge of the Ayakashi's blade. 

  
It was Cid who reacted first, screaming "Kid!" as he sent a wave of fire towards the Ayakashi. Cor was thrown towards the distance, bouncing off a tree in a sickening wet thud as he crumpled to the ground.

  
  
The fact that none of the daemons came after their youngest only served to amplify their horror.

  
  
Cor bit his tongue to keep the bile at the back of his throat as the following thoughts warred in his head:   
  
Regis was alive, and that was the priority.   
Soldiers were lost all the time in the battlefield, this was normal.   
Cor would be fine, they had Phoenix downs.   
He should have defended that blow, being the shield was HIS job.   
There was no price too high to pay for the life of his Highness, even the life of a fucking child-

  
  
At some point Clarus realized he was descending fast a slippery slope. The Ayakashi was still alive as well as a few straggling Bussemands. They needed to eliminate them first before he could even entertain the idea of helping their fallen comrade.   
  
  
The sun was peeking over the horizon when the Ayakashi at last fell. Wesk was the first to run towards the boy, already pulling out supplies.

The shield nearly lost an arm, broke nearly all his ribs, and gained a whole new map of scars all over, but it wasn't enough, didn't feel nearly enough-it never would be.

He wanted blood, he wanted vengeance, to rage against those who hurt the boy, to scream until he could no longer feel the guilt and self hate that was overflowing in him and he could forget anybody this ever happened.

 

He refused any more curatives after the first elixir. He was still a bloody broken mess, but he wouldn't take anymore.

 

"The boy needs them more than I do."

  
"We have enough and I can make more-"

  
"DON'T. REGIS."

  
Cid puts an arm on the Prince's shoulder, pulling him away, whispering for him to take care of his own injuries. Cid would take care of the Shield. Wesk was still working on Cor.

  
Cid pulls himself up in front of Clarus a moment later with a wet towel, some disinfectant and a few rolls of bandages. 

  
"Ya won't refuse these, will ya?"

  
The shield doesn't respond.   


  
Clarus didn't sleep that entire night. Or the next.

  
  
Cor died. Well, he was given a few phoenix downs-it took a few attempts for it to stick, but he still died.

 

None of them would ever forget the sight of him, a child covered in blood, insides spilled out, unmoving and cold on the ground.

One could argue that at least he would finally be at peace, away from the war. Clarus didn't remember who but he was sure that Regis tried to hold him back, Cid had screamed and Clarus' fists flew at whoever said it.

 

It was a horrific blur.

 

That was supposed to be him. He was equipped-trained to take these blows. He would have survived it, and it wouldn't be this-not this-not him.

  
  
Regis tried to calm him down, to get him to sleep, but he couldn't do it.

Guilt and self loathing ate at him, it chewed and burned and consumed him completely no matter what the others said.

He had to make sure the boy was alright. He had to be alright.

  
  
It had taken nearly three days. Three days for Cor to wake up. Clarus’ sanity was beyond frayed at this point. He at least waited for Cor to finish his drink and get a few bites of Weskham's soup before he moved in on the boy.

 

Everyone was looking at him warily but they knew that something needed to be said, so they let him be.

  
  
Clarus took the seat beside Cor's bed, an imposing figure, middle still covered mostly in bandages, hollowed shadows and a haunted look on his usually well kept face.

  
  
"You." Clarus seethed.

  
"Sir." the boy responded, devoid of emotion.

  
"What was that out there?"

  
"The prince was in danger sir, so I did what was needed to ensure his safety."

  
"Let me repeat, what the hell did you do to yourself back then?"

  
"I pushed his Highness out of the way-"

  
"I didn't ask what you did for Regis for fuck sake."   


Cor paused for a while, thinking.  
  
"I took the blade for his Highness, sir."

  
"Why the fuck did you do that?"   


Confusion marred the boy's features as he clutched the blanket.   
  
"It was necessary at the time, sir."   


"Who's the Shield here? Is it you?"

  
"... No sir."   


"Then why the hell did you take that blow?"

  
"Because-"   


"Were you fucking trained for that?"

  
  
Clarus was shaking and as he placed his hands on Cor's shoulders.

  
Cid growled a warning but Regis waved for him to stand down.

  
  
"No si-"   


"No right? Then why the hell did you?"

  
"I-"   


"You weren't supposed to! That's why! You're supposed to take Regis and get out of the fucking way and let me take the damned hits! You got that? Because that's my job! Not yours! That's why I'm here! I've been trained to take those hits! That's supposed to be me, not you! You're just a kid! You're just-"  


"..."

 

“I take the damned blows, not you.. Because I am the Shield.”  
  
Clarus is gasping when he stops talking. His bandages bloom red once again.

Cid curses somewhere in the background.   
  
"You're not supposed to throw your life away so easily. Not for Regis, not for anyone. That's my job, not yours."

  
"... I don't understand sir."

  
  
He wraps a large hand around Cor's back and another around his head, grasping him in a hug. 

 

  
"You died you stupid, stupid boy. Six, you fucking died." The shield sobbed into his shoulder. 

 

Now that he held Cor in his arms, he was once again reminded just how young the boy was. Clarus was huge by nature, but the boy was just scrawny, too many sharp and bony edges.

 

Fucking Six, he wasn't even done growing yet. As of present, he stood head and shoulders taller than the boy, damnit.

  
  
"You are never-NEVER to throw your life away like that again. That is an order. Do you understand?"

  
"But his Highness-"

  
"Regis."

  
  
"That's an order Cor. No more dying." Regis says firmly from the foot of the bed.

  
  
"... Alright. Understood, sir, your Highness." 

  
  
Clarus knew that his reasoning was flawed, but he needed to get his point across. He couldn't be bothered to care with the finer details at this point.

 

His vision was starting to dim and the world was moving out of focus.

Maybe it was due to the blood loss, or the pain of having his wounds reopened because he's a stubborn ass who refused curatives, or maybe his body finally caving into exhaustion for not sleeping for almost three days, that he could feel his consciousnesses begin slipping away.

 

He was sure it was the relief in his chest, from finally confirming that Cor was alright, and finally telling him off on his lack of self regard, that took a huge weight off his chest, but Clarus had one more thing left to say.

  
  
"I'm sorry Cor. I'm so fucking sorry I couldn't protect you."

  
  
The boy doesn't respond, but Clarus can feel his temperature rise and see his ears and neck turn pink.   
  
  
Regis says something and Cor answers, but Clarus doesn't hear it. His head sinks into Cor's shoulder. He's so, so tired. 

 

  
Clarus doesn't notice when the boy returns his hug, although he could tell the thin arms were reluctant at first. As his sobs rocked both their bodies, the grasp became firmer.

  
  
Cor may have softened into the hug or Clarus dissolved into an exhausted boneless heap, he couldn't really tell anymore.

  
  
The last thing he remembers before fading away is hearing Cor's voice saying "It's alright sir. I'm sorry too, Clarus-sir." 

  
Someone breaks a glass vial on his head instead of over. It hurt.

  
"Fucking finally." Someone says. It may have been Regis, but he was sure that the hand that smashed the vial on his head was dark brown.

  
"Shush, they both need rest."

  
  
A cool sensation of magic travelled through his body in soothing tendrils, beckoning him to sleep.

  
  
Warm hands worked on his body, probably getting rid of the bloodied bandages. A soft blanket covered him, then after that, black.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
Clarus wakes up-more like something rouses him. It starts out as whining, then kicking and struggling against his person. Clarus' sleep deprived brain deals with it by smothering it-with his body. It stills not long after and he once again sinks into deep slumber.

  
  
Weskham studies them, a pensive look on his face. Cid is still outside laughing, in an attempt to be careful not to wake the still sleeping members of the group.

  
  
"Will you look at that, I'm not the last one to get out of bed for the millionth time this week." 

  
"They have valid reasons Regis, you however, do not."

  
  
"They are adorable, aren't they?"

  
  
"You and I have very different definitions of adorable. But I suppose this can be classified as 'cute’.”

  
  
"You're so full of shit Wesk. Did you take pictures?"

  
  
"Tch. Is the Sky blue? Is water wet? Is the sea salty?"

  
  
"Well you definitely are."

  
  
Cid chooses this moment to re-enter the room and join the watching party.

  
  
"Now who woulda' thought that THAT was the solution to the kid's nightmares?"

  
  
"Looks like that muscle headed shield is good for something else after all."

  
  
"Give Clarus some credit. He's good at a lot of stuff. Just, none of us know it yet, not even him."

  
  
In the center of the room, where they pushed the two queen sized motel beds together, Clarus clutches a sleeping Cor to his chest. Both are deep in slumber.

  
  
Clarus is snoring up a storm, his body making its exhaustion very, very known. A long, muscled arm wrapped around skinny shoulders and a heavy leg thrown over bony knees.

Cor however, was curled up on his side, like a cat, face buried deep in pillows, chest and limbs. That couldn't have been THAT comfortable, but then again, they knew that Amicitia gave the best bear hugs.

  
  
"It's like seein’ ‘yer neighbor's dog falling asleep with a stray kitty."

  
  
"I am curious as to the source of this comparison as I have never seen such phenomenon." 

  
"... I had a normal childhood unlike you entitled shits."

  
  
"Now I wanna see that." Regis pouts.

  
  
"This is as good as it gets." 

  
"You know what? It looks very inviting. I think I'll join them." Regis yawns and moves toward the bed.

  
  
"You literally just woke up a while ago." 

  
"Woke up, check. Had breakfast, check. Anything else on the agenda Wesk?"

  
  
Wesk simply sputters as Cid laughs.

  
  
"Well I'm going to the gas station. Might find something interesting there." Cid waves as he leaves the room.

  
  
Regis is already sprawled out on the other side of Cor, pulling at the blankets.

  
  
"I guess that means I'll be going around the shops and tipsters and have a word with the hunters-again." Wesk says, resigned.

  
  
"Have fun mother." Regis sighs, already half asleep.   


 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
It is not the first time that Cor wakes up in a dogpile. Not that he minded, really. He's slept in much worse conditions before.

It definitely feels nice and no one said anything so it was okay.

 

His nightmares rarely kept him up anymore. He'd wake up every now and then, to find himself half buried under Clarus or Regis.

If he did get up, Cid or Wesk would sometimes follow. Cid would offer him a beer-it was another one of their growing pile of secrets. Wesk would make him tea or hot chocolate, and he would spoon unholy amounts of sugar into them before drinking.

 

Sometimes he'd be alone. He would watch the stars for a while, savoring the cold night breeze. But he always went back. Carefully, so as not to wake the prince or the shield, but both did sleep like logs so he wasn't really trying too hard.

 

The warmth was inviting and it felt safe. Yes. This is definitely nice, Cor thinks as he steals his covers back from Regis and pushes Clarus off his space. He should be grateful maybe, that the Shield kept his spot warm, he was good at it after all.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Wisp, for helping me whip this chapter into shape
> 
>  
> 
> Tell me your dog is purple, or say something else about the story if you wish.


	3. WESKHAM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor wasn't always a super soldier, super spy, super suave, all around killing machine. 
> 
> No. 
> 
> He had his beginnings too. 
> 
> Cor was a prodigy, but he also had a teacher.
> 
> Weskham is complicated, but if anything, Cor is always up for the challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weskham is difficult. We didn’t really get to see much of a personality form him so here’s my take on him.. and Cor. 
> 
>  
> 
> He’s got a backstory that I will upload soon.
> 
> There’s so much more to him than you think ;)

**CHAPTER 3**

**WESKHAM**

 

Weskham had been taught from a young age to be practical, to be pragmatic, to be objective about things when others around him couldn't.  
  
The first thing one would see is the primary and proper front, all impeccable manners, culture, and charm befitting a man of his stature. Harmless and beguiling, like butterfly wings, designed to engage and disarm. If Weskham only showed you his pleasant side, you were lucky.  
  
This could also mean one of the following things:  
a. he disliked you;  
b. he liked you, but not enough to trust you;  
c. he didn't really think you were important enough to like or dislike or show anything beyond basic courtesy.  
  
At least 90% of the people he met were in this category.  
  
If he liked you enough, you might get to see some personality. Snippets of his actual personality hidden under the carefully crafted exterior: sarcastic quips, sincere suggestions, a glimpse or two into the things that went on in his complicated mind. He would still be careful with himself, but only just enough to make you feel comfortable, and that he considered your feelings-just a little bit, because it was polite.  
  
If you were counted in his inner circle, then you would know that he didn't actually care about what others around him felt or said about him at all.  
  
He was so very good at disregarding feelings, others' and his own, all in the name of being efficient and getting things done. People didn't always like Wesk when they really got to know him. He was avoided, feared, or spoken of in hushed voices behind closed doors, if they dared. Weskham was like a predator disguised prettily as harmless prey. This was why so very few people knew the real him.  
  
It was always a special case that Wesk didn't like someone. If they were lucky, they wouldn't find a body, if they weren't then they would find, well, something. Wesk had been taught after all to clean up his mess.  
  
His upbringing however, was anything but ordinary. Weskham was raised to be thorough, efficient, neat and to always weigh his pros and cons before making any decisions. He was fluent in seven languages, a master tactician, manipulator and chef. He knew art, wine and music, could speak on the same level as professors and doctors and lawyers, knew his way around a map, knew the best way to gut and skin a man, hide and plant evidence, how to coerce, blackmail, torture, and extract evidence from even the most enduring of men.  
  
Of course his many talents had to have had a source, and they did: his parents. Yllaria was a Nif spy and Nubes was the king Mor's favorite assassin-slash-royal guard. How they became his parents is another story for another time but they did their best to hide their son from people who wanted them dead and made sure that Wesk would be able to defend himself when they weren't able to.  
  
They taught him everything they knew-which was all fine and dandy and useful in the world of sabotage and espionage. They passed on every useful bit of knowledge that could be used in the world they lived in, all of it except how to be a sensitive and compassionate human being-because they were not. They did not have the luxury to be such people given how they lived. Survival was deemed more important than the complexities of human emotions.

Morally speaking, he was a downright mess.  
  
Of course that went awry because of the war, and his parents were taken out of the picture. Wesk did try and almost successfully murdered king Mors when he was seventeen. No, he was not a sad warchild-he was under the tutelage of his exceptional parents up until he chose to take his fate into his own hands.  
  
  
And so, burning with a misguided need for vengeance, he went after Mors. And with a blade pressed to his throat by a raging teenage psychopath, the wheels in Mors' head turned, and he took interest. Mors saw Wesk as an opportunity instead of a threat. With a few well placed words Mors had disarmed and incapacitated him. Wesk was still young and hurting and impressionable, and Mors had sunk his fangs in.  
  
The Lucian king then proceeded to groom and train and perfect him to the weapon that he is today. His parents taught him to how hide, safe yet deadly, like a snake in the grass. Mors honed him to become a wolf in sheep's clothing, a predator disguised as harmless sheep. No one would dare question him when several of the flock went missing, and he was so very good at it.  
  
Wesk was one of Mors' sharpest tools in his armory when he was told to join his retinue.  
  
"Regis is too soft. You'll be good for him. Keep him on his toes, and alive for me, will you?"  
  
Weskham didn't want it, but then Mors said,  
  
"He is aware of my promise to you. He will fulfill it when I am no longer able to."  
  
And so, he agreed begrudgingly, once again giving in to Mors' manipulative ways.  
  
One could say that Wesk was the reason that Mors crossed the line of having children directly involved in the machinations of the war with Niflheim. Not that war didn't claim lives left and right regardless of age or anything, but Wesk was the probably the first child piece in his chess game. However Weskham was not a child, not really, not under the careful hands of his parents. Voluntarily he had jumped into the mouth of the proverbial beast, armed but not quite ready. Mors took care of that. Which was why Wesk's first reaction to Cor was nothing warm or or welcoming, or paternal need to protect or anything in the same continent of feelings.  
  
While the other members of Regis' retinue's first instinct was to help a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest, Weskham's first instinct would be to kill it. It would be a mercy really, as something so broken would never really be fully repaired. Cor was a jagged piece of broken glass-sharp and deadly enough to use as a weapon, but cuts its wielder at the same time. Wesk didn't see the sense really, as such tactics should only be used in times of desperation, when there were no other options or weapons at hand. He knew that maybe the others did it out of the good of their hearts. But then Wesk only knew the textbook definition of compassion but didn't experience it.  
  
This also explained how Wesk dealt with Regis and Clarus and Cid. He took care of them because it was his duty, a task given to him by The King who had given him a purpose after he lost his guiding light-along with it a promise to get him back something he had lost.  
  
Surely the last thing his parents would have wanted was for Wesk to fall into the King's clutches. They did spend Weskham's entire childhood trying to escape him and Niff spies who were sent to tie up loose ends.  
  
His blind quest for revenge landed him here and he had no one to blame but himself. But mission after mission after mission had given him something else to focus on. Honestly, slitting throats, stealing Intel, and sabotaging things was much easier in every sense of the word than babysitting the prince and being the only real adult in this motley crew.  
  
He was in charge of planning the trip, restocking their supplies, healing the wounded, preparing their meals, coming up with battle strategies, budgeting and choosing their hunts, making sure everyone bathed and had clean clothes-this part he begrudgingly took on because he could no longer tolerate the smell in the close quarters of their tent or the car.  
  
He had half the mind to try and kill Mors again, but that would mean that would mean that Regis would be in charge. Knowing the absolute troll that Regis was, Wesk knew that it was not in his best interest to off the king, but then he could also murder his current companions, Mors would definitely know, but Wesk would be out of his reach by the time he found out. Well, he wouldn't really do it, but he made and kept his plans in secret, just in case.  
  
So, while everyone was secretly holding their broken and bleeding hearts over the tragic story that was Cor, Wesk saw him exactly for what he was: a spitfire kitten with a big ass pointy sword-not exactly the tragic warchild you see in the movies. He was much more than that.  
  
Sure he was contrite and held his tongue around them. But everyone was walking on eggshells and Wesk could tell whenever Cid, Clarus or Regis was itching to say something but didn't. He could also tell from the miniscule twitches on Cor's face, that he was biting his tongue behind his lips. Wesk would find it hilarious and laugh at it in malicious glee if he wasn't in the same breathing space as these idiots.  
  
He spoke with Cor without pretenses, niceties, or the carefully curated charm he applied on acquaintances. Liking Cor was irrelevant. He was here to stay until he managed to get himself killed, or until Weskham decided to do it himself.  
  
In his honest opinion, the boy should have been left behind, he was reckless, used up more potions than everyone else, was a hothead who kept getting into fights-with monsters and people, but mainly because he was causing everyone emotional distress-for lack of a better word. Cid choked up whenever he was covered in blood or ate one of those abominations labeled 'chocolate', Clarus was fumbling around forging a friendship of some sort and determined not to let the boy kill himself-even had a breakdown over the kid doing his job. And Regis, well Regis was Regis and liked to pretend he was the same age as the kid whenever he was able to. But Cor also made them work harder, a grim reminder of what would happen if they were to fail their mission and lose the war to Niflheim.  
  
And so Weskham tolerated him, not really dealing with him unless absolutely necessary. He wasn't dying to heal his mental or emotional scars and pains like the rest of the party was.  
  
Another good thing was that Cor was determined to carry his own weight, as one could see in how hard he fought and how he sometimes tries-the word being 'tries', to help Wesk in his unending duties.  
  
Like whenever Wesk set out ingredients for a dinner, Cor would often make himself useful with a peeler or a paring knife. He was a much better hand at the kitchen compared to Clarus or Cid, who both had the tendency to butcher already dead ingredients or Six forbid-Regis who tried to use magic and caused fresh produce to explode.  
  
Weskham was fixing some roast while Cor was silently peeling his way through a stack of the potatoes and carrots. Cid was fussing over the damages the Regalia had sustained from the Unihorns they encountered earlier in the day. Clarus dragged Regis off to a nearby river for a bath.  
  
"I never got to say thank you." Cor starts.  
  
"For what?" Wesk asks.  
  
"For saving my life back then, back when-"  
  
"Think nothing of it. I did what any one of them would have done at the time."  
  
"But you didn't have to."  
  
"I did. None of them were calm enough, anyone else would have botched it up and wasted all our supplies."  
  
Cor paused.  
  
"You didn't do it for me."  
  
"No I didn't."  
  
"Why did you?"  
  
"I though about it. The loss of you would have devastated the group, irreparably bringing down morale. Our mission to collect the Royal arms would be greatly delayed or we would have failed, if I had let you expire."  
  
Cor paused again.  
  
"...Well that's... certainly one way to put it Mr. Armau-"  
  
"Please, call me Wesk."  
  
"You aren't like them, are you Wesk?"  
  
"You'll find that you and I have more in common than you think."  
  
Cor scoffs. "Yeah right."  
  
"Let's do each other a favor Cor, and spare each other the pleasantries and tell each other what we really think. All this 'careful what you say' schtick you have going with the others isn't going to work with me."  
  
Wesk gives him a smile, one that was more teeth and looked more like it belonged on a shark than it did on someone trying to ask for cooperation.  
  
"What if I say 'no'?"  
  
"Then I get to tell Mors that his latest pet project didn't make it or ran away."  
  
Cor considers the idea, eyes never leaving Wesk's. Slowly, he gives his own smile in return, one that was more snarl and a show of fangs rather than someone who was agreeing with something.  
  
"Well then, for the morale of the team, I can't very well refuse now can I, Mr. Armaugh?"  
  
Weskham's eye twitches a little.  
"Well then, I'm glad you agree."  
  
And thus began the strange relationship between one particular Core Leonis and a peculiar Weskham Armaugh.  
  
...  
  
Wesk could tell he was being followed. Cor was good at being fast and hitting things with his sword, but with stalking and concealing his presence? Not so, not even a little bit.  
  
"Watch it!" Someone yells from a distance.  
"You bumped into me in the first place!" Cor shoots back, hands already balled into fists.  
  
Weskham sighs, and proceeds walking through the markets.  
  
...  
  
That was not the first or the last time Cor tries to follow him.  
  
Wesk would sometimes be generous and let himself be followed for about fifteen or twenty minutes, before disappearing completely.  
  
He would, as if by magic and sheer mindfuckery, appear beside Cor to shove his shopping bags into the sputtering boy's arms before vanishing again. Other times he would not be seen again until later that evening, making dinner by the haven or harassing Cid into giving up his dusty clothes to the laundry. Sometimes he would also be hunched over the table, reading or writing or cleaning daggers and his guns.  
  
Cor seethes, frustration and the beginnings of something akin to admiration rioting in his gut.  
  
One of these days he'll get one up on Wesk.  
  
One day...  
  
...  
  
  
Hunts were never a competition before, but when Cor noticed that Wesk always had a higher kill count, something within him was triggered.  
  
He also noticed how Wesk wasted no movements, always had clean hits, and never missed. Not to mention how graceful Wesk was, feet making no sound as he dashed from one foe to another. Cor was fast, but Wesk was on a league of his own. Cor gritted his teeth and tried harder.  
  
When Cor had finally managed a higher kill count, he couldn't help but gloat.  
  
"Looks like I got more than you today Mr. Armaugh" Cor drawled.  
  
Wesk couldn't help the twitch under his eye.  
  
"Really? I didn't notice." He did actually. He just didn't think it mattered.  
  
"Seems like someone's getting old."  
  
"Cid is that way Cor."  
  
"Hey!" Cid says from a distance.  
  
"Someone should start keeping score, coz I'm gonna keep beating you."  
  
"If Regis or Clarus is in the running, you'll probably have to beat their numbers too."  
  
"Tsk. Well you know what they say, 'the more, the merrier.'"  
  
"Didn't know you were so competitive Cor. If I'd have known-"  
  
"Shut it Clarus, this isn't about competition- not with us really."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Wesk felt another twitch. He really, really didn't want to know.  
  
  
On days when he was feeling bitchy he would take down at least half of their foes on his own, just to watch Cor's face turn purple with rage.  
  
...  
  
Wesk pulls out the cloth bags, expecting them to be filled with laundry. He was surprised to find them empty. He wanders out behind the tent and finds the clothes, wrung and hung out to dry. Though from the looks of it, some were in the wrong color, and others were misshapen and in tatters. They did at least smell mildly of detergent.  
  
Wesk found himself mildly amused and much irritated. They would need to buy more clothes again soon.  
  
"What's this?" He asks Cid, who is lounging on the Haven's rock, under the shade.  
  
"Kid insisted we do our laundry like proper men. He was muttering something about doing something better with his time. Clarus was just happy to not have to kill something. Regis was fishing."  
  
"You do know these are pretty much ruined now, yes?"  
"Well, the kid wanted to do something else besides kill something or be killed, then you betcha Clarus and I are gonna jump at the chance. Besides, kid needs new clothes."  
  
"He has both of you wrapped around his fingers. I dread the day Regis joins the bandwagon. With both of you on it, it's only a matter of time."  
  
"Who says he didn't start it?"  
  
Wesk sighs. "I should have known."  
  
"Well you certainly have the kid wrapped around yours."  
  
"What ever do you mean?" Wesk says, nonchalant.  
  
"You got yourself a fan Wesk."  
  
"Oh no."  
  
...  
  
  
"Let's stay at this hotel tonight." Regis announces as the Regalia pulls into a small town.  
  
"Finally some beds!"  
  
"Sure wouldn't mind getting a proper shower once a month."  
  
Wesk's eyes sweep the area, from the hotel, to the diner across the street, the food stalls and the nearly empty dining area sprawled out in front of it. He looks towards the gas station and when he sees a some men in front of the caravan, his left eye twitches a bit. Not that Cor was looking. He was definitely not studying Weskham Armaugh. No sir.  
  
"There's a haven thirty minutes from here." Wesk says with finality.  
  
"But we're already here! We definitely have enough gil-" Regis protests when Clarus puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him a look.  
  
"Ugh fine." Regis finally quiets and sulks.  
  
"Guess that shower's gonna have to wait then." Cid drawls, leaning back into his seat.  
  
Cor watches the exchange quietly. He turns back to look at the town. No one was paying them any attention from the restaurant or the gas station. The people eating outside didn't seem to be-wait.  
  
One of the diners is watching them with poorly disguised interest, his eyes following them as he chews. The men in front of the caravan are whispering to each other, signaling towards them.  
  
Cor feels his blood run cold as he turns, facing the front of the car. He looks up to meet Wesk's eyes on the rear-view mirror.  
  
Later that night, after dinner, Wesk excuses himself to go on a walk. Which is strange, because Wesk doesn't usually go on walks this late at night.  
  
Cor gets up to follow him when Clarus asks, "Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"Weskham-"  
  
"-can handle himself, more so than the rest of us."  
  
Cor's eyes narrow and sits back down, crossing his legs in front of the fire.  
  
"So you know where he's going?"  
  
"Yes, we all do. Wesk has this way of knowing and handling things, and it has always been for our best interests."  
  
"Then back at that town..."  
  
"Never question Wesk, Cor." Clarus says sagely.  
  
"Yeah kid, I learned that the hard way." Cid quips from his seat beside the fire.  
  
Regis is already out cold in the tent.  
  
"None of you go out with him?" Cor asks, genuinely curious.  
  
"My primary duty is to guard his Highness as his Shield."  
  
"I ain't really a fighter, kid. I tried once, and nearly died four times. Never again."  
  
They hear gunshots, unmistakeably from Weskham's revolvers. They had become familiar with the distinct sound after months of fighting together. A few more shots come afterwards, from several arms, not just Weskham's.  
  
Cor shoots up, hand on the hilt of his sword.  
  
"Thats-the men from the town-”  
  
"They could be hunters."  
  
"Could be spies, or Imperials."  
  
  
"I should go check on him."  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Ya sure about that kid?"  
  
Cor looks at both men, stubborn determination painted across his face.  
  
Clarus' expression is solemn. "Alright, but at the first sign of danger, you come back here-and stay away from daemons, you hear me?"  
  
Cor grimaces, but nods.  
  
Clarus had become more open in expressing his concern over Cor's welfare since that one incident. He was borderline mom-like at times.  
  
Cid looks grim. "Don't get too close to the fighting kid. Remember when I told you that I nearly died four times? Half of those was by dear old Wesk's hand."  
  
Cor swallows, nods again in acknowledgement, then smiles a bit. "No promises though."  
  
"Wesk won't be pleased if you get yourself banged up stalking him."  
  
"I'm not stalking-"  
  
Cid barks out a rough laugh. "Yeah he does that. Made me suffer two whole nights before properly settin' my leg right when I insisted he should be taking back up and volunteered."  
  
"Well you did trip and got that leg broken up on your own. And he did finally heal it properly once you promised to stop trailing and nagging-"  
  
"I was only worried about him."  
  
"Fat lot of good that did you."  
  
"I'm still going."  
  
"Won't stop ya kid. Yer much better at fighting than I ever will be. Just make sure you come back in once piece."  
  
"If Wesk won't heal you, I will-try at least. You look like one who has the beginnings of a Weskham-induced obsession."  
  
"I'm not-"  
  
"We've all been there Cor. Me and Regis used to trail him around the Citadel. We broke into King Mors’ office trying to sneak a peek at his files. More than once he led us into traps or locked us in rooms, only to be found by staff the next day. Regis even went as far as to follow him out of the Citadel and out of Insomnia, which resulted in a city wide lockdown. Mors was so pissed at us."  
  
"I remember that day, the Crownsguard were having a fit. No one could find Reggie or Clarus. I'm surprised you let him talk you into it-"  
  
"I was blackmailed! Also he threatened to go with or without me and things would have been much worse if I let him go without me."  
  
"Still didn't find out what he was up to, did you?"  
  
"Weskham is the very epitome of mystery-he's so clichè mysterious that I'd be mad at him if I wasn't impressed."  
  
"He hasn't changed a bit, has he?"  
  
"You're stalling and I'm leaving."  
  
"It did work for a while."  
  
"Wesk should be finishing up by now."  
  
Cor darts into the trees, putting the sound of Clarus sighing fondly and Cid chuckling behind him.  
  
...  
  
  
Cor stops. The gunshots should have come from around here. He could still smell the gunpowder and blood in the air.  
  
Click.  
  
The cold steel barrel pushes up against his jaw.  
Cor freezes. He didn't hear or sense his approach. Damn he was good.  
  
"You make too much noise and you don't pay enough attention to your surroundings."  
  
Cor snarls before he sighs in frustrated in defeat. The gun presses further into his skin and he backs into a tree.  
  
"Your defenses leave much to be desired. You're used to enemies charging at you and open battlefields. In a battle of stealth and wit, you'd fall even before you've drawn that pointy toothpick."  
  
"I don't suppose you could teach me?" Cor risks asking.  
  
"You are a pawn on Mors' chessboard. The way you fight and think will drive you into an early grave. I see no merits or advantages in training you."  
  
"You're the same as me. You serve Mors as I do. I could be useful-"  
  
"I serve no one's interests but my own. Mors is a means to an end, and Regis by extension, in case Mors dies before he fulfills his promise to me."  
  
Cor's eyes widen before they narrow in a glare. "You're not a spy. What are you?"  
  
Weskham laughs, it is cold and bitter.  
  
"No I am not a spy, though my origins might tell you otherwise. My skillset though does go above and beyond that."  
  
"I'm not sure this is the right time to be gloating, but okay. So teach me."  
  
The revolver's hammer is pulled back and the gun digs deeper into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. Cor pushes himself further against the tree, bark digging painfully into his back.  
  
"What good would that do me?"  
  
"Mental exercise? You seem the type to enjoy those."  
  
"You, young lad, are a constant test of my patience, of which I am quickly running out of."  
  
"I'll only bring you more trouble Wesk. If you trained me, you would at least be in control of the chaos I bring."  
  
Cor's eyes shone with bullheaded determination and a promise of raising hell if he would let him run free and uncontrolled.  
  
"Oh Six, you're going to be an insufferable little shit about this, aren't you?"  
  
"Weskham, you said a bad word."  
  
"I could end you now, save us all the trouble and potions. We might actually be able to go through a week without having to restock once you're gone."  
  
"But Wesk, what about morale?"  
  
"We could pick up another orphan. Probably a sweet little girl, one who will stay in the car, one we could dress in pretty little dresses and bows and won't talk back. That or we could get a puppy."  
  
Cor snarled. "But you won't."  
  
Wesk's brows furrow as his eyes twitch. This insufferable boy annoys him to no end but-  
  
_Can't kill him, can't get rid of him, can't tolerate him..._ _  
_ _  
_ Really the only thing left to do was-  
  
"No. I won't."  
  
Wesk finally lowers the gun, and walks.  
  
"On your feet then."  
  
It takes two seconds for the command to register in Cor's brain before he rises, not realizing that he was leaning his full weight on the tree.  
  
Cor gets up on his feet and scrambles after the figure moving fast among the trees. Cor ran after the tall dark figure that seemed to float, for there was no wind that he moved with, no sound that he made.  
  
Cor could admit to himself now that the feeling that filled him was awe. That and giddy excitement, because now he had something to target. Something he could pit himself against, a measure to stand up to.  
  
Other than stabbing his sword into things and killing everything larger than a bus, this would be a worthwhile venture-for him at least.  
  
...  
  
  
It became a ridiculous game, for anyone was keeping score. Cor kept trying to get one up on Wesk.  
  
Wesk gave him these stupid challenges, but they did hone one skill or another, albeit infuriatingly petty.  
  
Like stealing little things... Alright, the monocle wasn't a little thing, Cor admits with little to no remorse. He was so proud of himself for pulling it off.  
  
Weskham did go on a murderous rampage. Wesk wouldn't raise a hand against Regis though, but he was very much tempted to.  
  
Instead, he turned to Regis, while pinching the bridge of his nose and said,  
  
"Regis. Go fishing. Do not return until Clarus comes for you."  
  
Regis didn't even say a word. He took one look at Weskham's face, waved a hand in farewell to the others, and left.  
  
Cor, Cid, and Clarus would rather that day remain locked away with other memories left forgotten.  
  
Cor didn't see his sword for an entire month. Everytime he summoned his weapon from the aether, a kitchen knife or some other kitchen utensil would appear in his hand.  
  
Not one to back down from a challenge, Cor tried his best to fight valiantly anyways.  
  
It did keep his kill count pathetically low-not for long though.

 

Iron cast skillets were a pain to wield but dealt decent blunt force damage.

 

Maybe this was part of his training. Maybe.  
  
Cor was sure he would never get murdered in a kitchen though.  
  
...  
  
  
Sneaking up on Wesk-now this was a mountain and a half to climb.  
  
Cor had yet to successfully get close to Wesk without getting caught. It didn't help that he was always expecting it, but that's just part of the teaching-slash-learning process right? Masters would purposely give their students a hard time because they were supposed to, and not because they were heartless dicks. But Wesk was a heartless dick and was training him so that alone made things a million times harder for Cor. Still rising to the challenge, Cor worked a million times harder-even if things didn't always go as planned.  
  
Wesk was sipping his cup of coffee when he felt it, the sluggishness of his limbs and droopiness of his eyelids. He staggers, leaning on the foldable tabletop counter that served as as his kitchen in the haven. He looks around the camp, noting that Clarus was asleep, leaning on a tree, mid-workout. Cid was snoring in the shade, like a lounging cat, he had the habit of doing that whenever they had lazy mornings. Regis as usual had yet to wake up. Both had drunk from the same coffee pot-  
  
His eyes zero in on the Cor, who is smirking at him from the foldable lounge.  
  
"You did this."  
  
"Yes.I.did." The insufferable brat was proud.  
  
"How?"  
  
"While you were busy losing me in the markets, I decided to look around the areas you frequent. And boy, those shops are something else."  
  
"Hmm, let me guess. Tasteless and scentless, it's silver mist."  
  
"Tsk. You would know, you're the frequent customer."  
  
Wesk noted that Cor wasn't moving. His arms and legs lay limp in front of him.  
  
"You had us all drink this. Why-"  
  
"Everyone but his Highness." Cor corrected, the smug bastard. He continued,  
  
"I didn't think you'd fall for it. I was sure you'd catch it. Getting everyone to drink was the only way I knew you'd drink it."  
  
"But you drank it too."  
  
"I have the antidote."  
  
"You idiot. There is no antidote for silver mist."  
  
"But the lady told me-"  
  
"Yes, she sells those tea and fruit flavored lozenges as antidote for nearly everything, but the only thing they do is get you high."  
  
"But she... Oh... So that's why the cockatrices and cactuars were dancing. It was the waltz. Hah.”  
  
"The what now? Gods, how much did you put in the coffee? We'll be out for at least six hours at this point." Wesk says as he settles on the hard rock, leaning against the tent's beam.  
  
"The whole bottle."  
  
"Six-that means we'll be here till tomorrow.” Weskham realizes with a mild sense of dread.

 

Cor just snickers and yawns, and then snickers some more.

 

“Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now." Wesk seethes.  
  
"Because I got one on you." Snore.  
  
Wesk sighs, cursing several times for good measure at the young snoring face before dissolving into chuckles.  
  
Regis chooses this moment to crawl out of the tent, looks at the boy dozing on the lounge and then glares at Wesk.  
  
"Would you look at that, he laughs. Just what are you doing with that boy Wesk?"  
  
"He's the one who insisted that I train him."  
  
"To what, drug the entire crew?"  
  
"He thought that one up on his own."  
  
"He got that from your actions, you indirectly led him to it."  
  
"Don't blame me because he has a brain. I thought you'd be happy he isn't trying to kill something."  
  
"Wesk, in case you haven't yet realized, he's just drugged my Shield, our mechanic, and himself to get to you. Now you tell me if I should be happy or terrified."  
  
"I'm somewhat impressed to say the least. My mother taught me this when I was nine."  
  
"I don't think the world needs another Wesk."  
  
"Tell that to the kid, he's the one constantly trying to 'get one' up on me."    
  
Regis steps over Wesk, reaching for the coffee pot and pours its contents over the edge of the haven.  
  
"Train him if you will Wesk, but please don't do it at the expense of the team."  
  
"Again, this is not on me."  
  
"You're his teacher Wesk, of course it's on you."  
  
Wesk sighs one more time.  
"If you say so."  
  
Really, arguing with Regis was a pointless endeavor-most especially so when one was drugged and sagging on the hard rock-floor of a haven. He was quite proud of the teenage menace, though he'd never admit it. Sacrificing oneself to succeed in a particular goal was always an admirable trait, hard to come by. Even if the mission was stupid, Cor had been foolishly dedicated to it and succeeded. He closes his eyes and succumbs to sleep. He'll contemplate killing the boy again once he wakes up.  
  
...  
  
And so under Weskham's not-so-careful tutelage, Cor grew from being a reckless sword wielding prodigy, to a fighter that was the embodiment of a living nightmare.  
  
His skills would later help cement his title as an immortal through the years. Heck, the main reason he kept surviving other than his sheer determination was the things that Wesk taught him-things he in turn learnt from his parents, and these in turn Cor would undoubtedly teach his children if he had any. But Cor might teach them compassion and how to be human.  
  
The retinue suffered of course-and is still suffering actually.  
  
Regis, in private moments told Wesk that he was also turning soft on Cor, despite training him to become a monster.  
  
And though he was loathe to admit it, the little cur had grown on him. Neither Regis, Clarus, nor Cid ever challenged, surprised or made so much attempts to rile him up. It was a strange kind of fondness, one born  out of patience and telling himself not to murder the little shit.  
  
Wesk was proud. The feeling grew from quietly observing and contemplating Cor's progress, even as he wrought one disaster after another. But with each Cor-related calamity, Weskham was surprised. For Cor grew and he found himself looking forward to the young boy's improvements. It was like he had given the angry hissing kitten superpowers. And that is exactly what it was. Although Cor annoyed him to death, he also amused him to no end.  
  
The boy may have found someone to measure up to, but Wesk had found a purpose. Something other than revenge, other than the obligation brought about by his father's death to reclaim a doomed island. That grudge was still there but it no longer had an iron grip around his core.  
  
Cor however, Cor was a mantle he'd taken up on his own, even if the boy had threatened him, fought him every step of the way, and made pitiful attempts of blackmail and bribery at him-those he made sure he fixed. It wouldn't do to if his pupil was a poor hand at manipulating people. Oh he was sure Cor could take the King on now-but Cor was too loyal for that. Cor was one he could be proud of, even though he felt the urge to skin him alive every now and then.  
  
Wesk was proud when Cor could finally stand on equal footing with him and their spars became more even.  
  
Wesk was proud when Cor got sent out on dangerous missions that most would balk at, ones that only the likes of Wesk would be sent out on, and Cor returned, always triumphant. The price of war was always paid in blood, but it would not take from Cor any longer.  
  
...  
  
They arrived in Altissia to secure an alliance, but things had taken a turn for the worst. Mors passed, and the Imperials were rabid in their pursuit of Regis knowing he was vulnerable outside of the city. Regis needed to return to Insomnia post haste.  
  
Wesk kept his focus, even with the knowledge that Mors was dead, with his promise unfulfilled. Wesk put his attention on things that were within his reach, on the future that Mors had invested in, the one that they all bet on. It was the only option they had because the alternative was surrendering to Niflheim.

  
Though their time was now very limited, he took it out on Cor and worked him to the bone. Cor, also reeling from the loss embraced the harsh words, and the pain from the beating-the violence hidden under the guise of training. It was the only thing he could do for now.  
  
The Imperials had tried their very hardest to cut his life short but only managed to nearly cripple him. When the doctors told him that his movement would be impaired, he made up his mind.  
  
For tactical as well as practical reasons, he would stay behind. He had to be rational, even when others around him couldn't.  
  
Cor and Clarus protested the idea-not surprisingly. Wesk tried to make them see reason, more like common sense really, but he knew at this point that for them it was more denial.  
  
Wesk would stay in Altissia and work to secure an alliance with Lucis once more. He would be more useful here, instead of weighing them down should he stay with the party.  
  
He told himself this was for the best. That he could finally stop being a babysitter and that he was finally free of the previous king.  
  
Wesk bid them success, and good fortune in their future endeavors. It was cold, generic and distant, cut out cleanly with a scalpel- so classically Weskham that it would have been convincing. But they knew each other too well to believe any of it.  
  
No, they didn't need to see or acknowledge the loneliness that was already settled in the room with him, even as they sat there in quiet and dreadful realization of their current circumstances.  
  
There would be no tearful goodbyes between them. They each had an important role to play and weakness was not welcome.  
  
If Cor held him longer and tighter than the rest, he said nothing. Besides, he wasn't the first one to release the hug.  
  
...  
  
  
Cor in was proud of himself, for surviving Wesk. Despite the constant threats to his life on a weekly basis, he learned that this was, in his own way, Wesk showing that he cared-by not actually killing him.  
  
When he finally knocked Wesk off his feet, he grew prouder still.  
  
When he took on missions that were not strictly killing things, doing things that required stealth, cunning, manipulations and lies, he felt that he could finally reach Weskham.

  
Just a few days prior Cor had been excited to be in a new place. Altissia meant new challenges, due to the unfamiliar terrain and whatever impossible task Wesk had planned for him.  
  
When Mors fell they all took it hard, some more than the others. Wesk came at him, no holds barred. Cor hit back, giving just as much as he got and more.

  
He didn't expect that his final task from Wesk was to leave him behind.

He couldn't accept it. This shouldn't have become a battle he couldn't win. And oh he fought. He fought tooth and nail. He fought with Clarus, with Cid, even called Regis them all a bunch of cowards for retreating. He didn't apologize for it. He was never going to.

  
But he had to accept it. He had to.  
There was no other way.

  
Out of spite, Cor swore to himself that he would come visit at every possible chance, and even torment Wesk from a distance whenever he could.  
  
And he did.  
  
  
...  
  
  
Cor once felt that he had nothing left to hold on to for all was lost in his early years and all he could do was fight, fight and fight until he expired.  
  
Now, before he realized it, his hands were being filled. It grew slow, faint, and warm-a budding hope he dare not vocalize because the universe had a habit of tearing nice things apart.  
  
He'd never say it, never dare, but he wasn't ever letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always Wisp :)
> 
>  
> 
> Tell me that it rains lemon drops in your area or yell at me about my writing.


	4. REGIS - 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cid was right. Regis did start the bandwagon. 
> 
> He was there, right from the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me from the very start. It was supposed to be just one chapter, but 7k words later... They have a LONG history okay. 
> 
> Regis is the founder ad president of the Cor protection squad and here's how it began.
> 
>  
> 
> I can't thank you enough, Wisp. For going through my crap and helping me fix this.

**CHAPTER 4.1**

**REGIS**

 

 

This was it.

 

If Regis needed any proof that his only living parent hated him or that he was not morally sound, this was it.

 

Mors was teetering on the edge of respect, fear, and hate for most people. Respect because he was the reigning monarch, fear because he had the Lucian army at his fingertips and was deadly with his magic and known to be quite the ruthless tactician, and hate because he had pulled back the wall, and for all the other reasons stated before.

 

Regis couldn't hate him though, well, not yet. Mors did give him reasons to do so, and it started after the disappearance of his mother 8 years ago when Regis was 12.

 

Things in the family weren't perfect, no, quite far from it given that his father was an eccentric and also the king. He was absent, busy most of the time but his mother Stella was always there, always loving. When Mors was present, he revolved around Stella. It was like watching a planet revolving around a star. His father was still painfully awkward but so smitten, like a teenager around a crush, instead of a king to his married wife of 15 years.

 

When she disappeared, he spared no expense to find her, sending out the Crownsguard and the Royal Guard (the glaives would not be established for another 15 years) and even hiring every available hunter in Lucis to find her. It was chaos. They searched high and low and overturned every rock, even spies in Niflheim, Tenebrae and Accordo were advised that finding her Majesty was top priority. Then never found a trace of her. It was almost as if one of the Astrals had snuffed her out of existence.

 

Mors was devastated. He couldn't function. Defenses in the Citadel were down, defenses in Insomnia were down, work was backed up for weeks and weeks. His assistants, Chamberlain and Shield didn't know what to do.

 

Mors thinks that if he had just been with her more, maybe he could have kept her here, or stopped her from leaving, or prevented the gods from taking her. Niflheim was aggressively intruding on Lucian territories again and he couldn't, he just couldn't deal with all of it right now. Not even with all the people around him who tried to help, they weren't her. They weren't Stella.

 

They couldn't save him from his grief. They couldn't save him from the damage, they couldn't stop him when he turned the destruction inwards, outwards and on everything he touched.

 

Three years later was the years of grievingand despair for the king. They couldn't stop him when he pulled back the wall, convinced that if Stella was out there, she'd be forced to return to Insomnia because it was the only safe place. But that was not the only reason.

 

Mors was half mad with grief and half dead because of the combination of stress, pain, and the crystal only sucked the life out of him faster in his weakened constitution. Everyone around him, from the council to the servants, even his Regis told him not to.

 

Regis offered to share the burden, but it was not his time, not yet. Mors knew Stella would kill him if he did, and he was tempted to do it for a chance it would bring her back.

 

But his doctors and the shield knew, really, really knew that if he had kept the shield up all over Lucis, King Mors would be dead in a few weeks, 6 months at most. Regis was nowhere near ready to take over for him at the time. And so the shield was pulled back and Mors became the most hated man in all of Eos, it was a close competition between him and the current Emperor of Niflheim.

 

But because he was Mors' son, and he wasn't supposed to give up on him so he didn't-he had always hoped.

 

Oh he had hoped beyond hope.

 

He couldn't harden his heart against his father.

 

...

 

 

Now, Regis was an absolute troll, and people who really knew him would often scratch their heads and ask themselves why, but his playful nature was his mask for the things that weren't-things that he didn't, well, a lot of things.

 

Being cheerful, acting childishly inappropriate, employing his sarcastic sense of humor and pranking everyone-this was Prince Regis' default mode, his normal settings-not to mention being borderline narcoleptic.

 

He knew how to behave and proper when the situation called for it. As such, most people thought that Regis was just acting out. In a way they were right, whenever he was upset he'd be a worse troll than he normally was.

 

Regis was playful by nature, upset Regis was a cranky cave troll who was revived from the dead and was pissed because he hasn't slept for the whole week and you'd barged in his front door singing his favorite song offensively out of tune just as he was finally going to fall asleep. He tried hard not to be cruel though, because the his father was called such, although he actually wasn't.

 

Angry Regis was a disaster people rarely got to see. That was because Clarus was the first line of defense against this disaster, dragging him away from people and subjecting himself to his Prince's wrath. The second (and hopefully the last) line of defense was Wesk.

 

This was the latter. 

 

His father, the King, had just picked up a child-like a stray, and appointed him as Mors' personal bodyguard.

 

A teenage boy, guarding a full ass grown man-who was a king, who had his own Shield, who had an entire fleet of Crownsguard, who lived in the Citadel which was smack in the middle of Insomnia, which was protected by an impregnable magic wall.

 

Overkill is a word, but this goes far beyond that.

 

Mors had no business raising children, much less dragging them into the war as part of his retinue like he did. Regis knew this from experience.

 

He heard of Cor before he even saw him. News that someone had survived Gilgamesh was big news. Many had attempted to claim the power that was said to be there, none had returned-until now.

 

There were whispers, questions, speculations-each one a shade uglier than the last. Was Lucis using child soldiers now? Why not enlist the refugees instead? Was the military so lax and morally grey that they were accepting just anyone who could fight these days? Did this child bewitch the king? Was Mors under a spell? Was he sleeping with this new addition?

 

This made Regis livid, and he had no intention of hiding it. Hell, he'd make sure even the Tide mother who was supposed be asleep 10,000 leagues under the sea knew it.

 

Upon the return of the Royal Caravan to the Citadel, Regis stormed into Mors' office. Clarus hadn't been there to stop him-he was busy training to fill his role as Shield and becoming a full fledged Crownsguard, so Regis was ambushing the King alone.

 

He opened the door and entered without knocking.

Lapis and Mors were already used to Regis doing this, but the boy had his sword out and it was inches from Prince's throat before the door even closed.

 

"Cor! Put your sword down!" Lapis exclaims.

 

"What is the meaning of this?" Regis says, calm and low.

 

"This means that you should learn how to knock." Mors says dryly.

 

The sword is still inches from his nose. The boy-Cor, glares at him before lowering his sword and sliding it back into its sheath. He harrumphs at Regis before going to stand behind Mors' desk chair.

 

Regis frowns, determined not to lose his calm. The boy was painfully young. He could not be fifteen-he was at least twelve-or fourteen at most.

 

"Lapis."

 

"Yes Highness?"

 

"What is the minimum age requirement to enlist in the Crownsguard?"

 

Lapis sighs. He knows where this is going, and he knows it won't be pretty.

 

"Eighteen your Highness, but those who show exceptional physical or mental aptitude are allowed to join in at sixteen."

 

"Exactly." Regis snapped.

 

Mors watches his son, weary but condescending.

Cor however, unflinching, continues glaring at Regis, clenching his teeth behind thinned lips while his face slowly turns red.

 

"Lapis, what do we do to those who attempt to sign up too young or lie to get in?"

 

"The ones who try to join too young are educated regarding the strict age requirements, whilst those who try to get in by falsifying their age or records are banned or blacklisted from joining." Lapis runs a palm over his face.

 

"How old is he, your Majesty?" Regis says sharply.

 

Mors opens his mouth, but Cor speaks first.

 

"I'm old enough, not that it's any of your goddamn business-"

 

"Cor! Don't speak to the Prince that way." Lapis admonishes.

 

"He's thirteen, and he's here because I say so Regis." Mors speaks with finality.

 

"Thirteen! Gods, that child should be in school! He should be-"

 

"You should have seen him Regis, he took down my escort single handed while still injured and barely conscious. Even Lapis couldn't take him down."

 

Regis' eyes seek out Lapis'. The Shield looked ashamed.

 

"I was trying NOT to kill him." He grumbled.

 

"Then give him a few years. Put him in a foster home, put him in the barracks, school him, train him if you wish. Just don't drag him-"

 

"No Regis. He's a weapon-a bringer of death in his own right. He's ready."

 

"Have you lost your mind-"

 

"I won't undo what's already done. I've already got targets for him-"

 

"Father, please-"

 

Mors pauses.

 

Hope flickers within Regis, faint and overshadowed by desperation.

 

"I'm afraid I'm quite busy today Regis. Unless you have anything else to say."

 

Regis, trembling with rage, takes in a breath, trying to calm himself.

 

Lapis and Cor are both silent, the looks on their faces indicating that they would rather be anywhere else but here.

 

"You should hear yourself, or at least look in the mirror. Mother isn't here to see what you've become. I'm glad she isn't."

 

"Regis!" Lapis gasps.

 

"She'd be ashamed-wouldn't want any part of this, and neither do I."

 

Mors has stopped looking at Regis. He couldn't. He couldn't face the fury in those green eyes-so much like her own, the same slender nose, made worse by the similar lips, bitten to a thin line in anger. That glower was so much like hers that it physically hurt. It was as if she was here again and it was causing the king such a visceral reaction that Mors sways, face gone deathly pale and had a fine sheen of sweat on his face.

 

Regis stalks out of the room, not sparing another glance at the boy, Lapis throwing him an apologetic look that says 'I tried but failed'. He slams the door behind him. He hears glass shattering against the closed office doors as he enters the elevator.

 

...

 

 

"The kid doesn't seem to be capable of magic, other than the combative types that the military uses, so you can rest assured your father isn't under some spell." Clarus says to a brooding Regis.

 

"The King isn't under anyone else's spell but his own."

 

"Your father-" Clarus stops when Regis sends him a pointed look.

 

"King Mors doesn't seem to have recruited any other child soldiers or assasins-that we know of."

 

Oh, they've seen Wesk before. The lithe boy who was around the same age as Regis. He'd started showing up at Mors' office around two years ago, not long after the king had pulled back the wall. They were told that Wesk was there for diplomatic studies and also to function as a messenger between Insomnia and other parts of Eos. If they only knew what kind of studies and trainings he had been subject to, and what kind of 'diplomatic and scholarly trips' he had been sent on. Regis threw up the contents of his stomach after stealing one of his reports.

 

Cor had been serving as Mors' "bodyguard" for a few months now. He'd been sent to the Frontline so several times and returned always victorious, always with new scars and new horrifying stories.

 

Mors and Regis were never in the same room these days. In meetings where both were supposed to be present, Clarus would be standing in for the prince. It was a cold war within the Citadel, and nobody wanted to get caught in between.

 

But the boy, the one who was at the heart and the start of all of this, was quiet. While the King and the Prince were playing hide and no seek, Cor was under no such limitations. He was with Silex, the Mors' Advisor and Chamberlain when they came across Regis. The Prince was laughing at something at the Shield's sake, if his long suffering facial expression was anything to go by.

 

"It'll be fine, I tell you. He won't even know it was us."

 

"You're literally the only one who would dare pull off that kind of dumb shit in the Citadel Regis."

 

"But he doesn't know that. For all his super secret agent status, I doubt Wes-"

 

The laughs die and the smiles fall away to hardened expressions.

 

Clarus reacts first, nodding his greetings.

 

"Good morning Silex, Cor."

 

"Morning Highness, Clarus." Silex smiles at them both.

 

Cor doesn't say anything but does bow his head slightly at them both, not meeting their eyes. He is well aware that he isn't looked upon favorably by most of the people in the Citadel, the Prince first and foremost. They haven't exchanged words since that first day.

 

Entitled people in the Citadel often felt the need to voice out their dismay on Cor's involvement with the King, and particularly liked doing so when Cor was alone. Cor, the firecracker that he was, liked using his fists and blunt words to silence these people up. Silex, hovered around the boy, trying to teach him a better way to handle these situations. While diplomatic banter was still very much out of reach, Cor, Silex discovered, had a very impressive and unwavering deadpan face. He was using it right now, determined not to get any altercation with Regis.

 

The prince stares at Cor while the other stares at the floor.

 

The awkwardness grows so thick that Clarus starts to choke on it. Silex clears his throat.

 

The Shield elbows Regis in the ribs, breaking him out of it.

 

"Pleasant morning, Silex. And you," Regis' eyes never leave Cor.

 

Clarus elbows him once more for good measure. They've talked about this. Cor was just a kid, and Regis-who was only five years older, was the closest to him in age within the vicinity. There were younger Crownsguard, the trainees, but Cor rarely saw them. He was always at Mors' side or out in the battlefield.

 

Clarus was determined to be friendly with the kid, and had thoroughly ripped a new one into Regis about how antagonizing the kid would only make things worse. They snuck around and had stolen Cor's file. Marshal Ares of course caught them red handed and assured Regis he didn't need to steal around to have a look at the file, but Regis only rebutted with "Where's the fun in that?"

 

The file had been sparse contained fishbone details of Cor's life. He was born to a regular Lucian family that didn't have any particular outstanding points. The boy showed exceptional physical prowess in school and had a record for getting in trouble with friends-a typical childhood. He expressed interest in joining the military ranks, just like his grandfather who died after his tenth birthday.

 

The war and Cor found each other early in his life, and they've stayed together ever since. It was an unfortunate family trip, the fighting claimed all members except Cor. He was found days later, during the cleanup of the bodies, broken swords in hand and every inch covered in blood.

 

He demanded to join the soldiers in fighting off the Imperial army, and their new type of robotic soldiers. They'd felt sorry for him, and it burned, that pity. He was no longer a child, not after that incident. He was sent back to Insomnia to be placed into foster care. Few days later, Cor disappeared.

 

There were sightings and rumors of a child joining the fray in the outskirts of Lucis. He didn't stay long after the fighting ended. Hunters also reported a child striking it out in the wild, taking hunts-but that wasn't unusual. What was unusual was that this kid always alone, unlike most who went in groups.

 

He also used a set of dual swords, one longer than the other. The kid fought like a hurricane, his onslaught fast and unstoppable. This went on for the majority of two years, until he took on the legend in the caverns and came out of it alive. That was when Mors found him. He really had nothing to return to.

 

Regis felt like an ass and felt the burning need to apologise. His anger was justified, but should not be directed at the boy, Clarus had argued. And so here he was, staring at Cor, wondering how to make amends.

 

Regis wasn't really an expert on making peace with... kids. They shouldn't be as difficult as foreign dignitaries or obstinate councilmen.

 

Regis extends a hand.

 

"I'm sorry for the way things played out back then. Truce?"

 

Cor eyes the hand suspiciously. Regis' reputation as a prankster was common knowledge to all within the Citadel.

 

But the Prince was trying to make peace with him, and Cor wasn't sure if denying him would mean treason.

 

But if Regis wanted to challenge him, he wasn't going to back down, and so he meets Regis' eyes, not breaking his deadpan. Cor takes the offered hand, bracing himself for a shock, but is receives none.

 

He still expects something to happen so he just stands there awkwardly holding Regis' hand, eyes still on Regis' in an intense smoulder. Seconds tick by, their contact crossing from brief, to appropriate, to friendly, to suspicious, to 'i don't know what's going on but it's happening and I can't stop it'.

 

Clarus sputters, looking scandalized. Silex hides a chuckle behind a hand.

 

Regis tries to keep his composure, but can't fight the blush that paints his face-not because of any of the obvious teenage hormonal reasons, but because he knows exactly what is going through Clarus' and Silex' minds at this very moment.

 

Damn. This was not how he'd planned things would go, not that he'd even planned anything in the first place. But still.

 

He could already hear the rumor mill spinning.

 

The kid was probably sizing him up, trying to see if what kind of stuff Regis was made of.

 

Well guess what? Regis doesn't back down either.

 

And so Regis grasps Cor's hand firmly, and gives it a FIRM HANDSHAKE-willing Clarus and Silex and anyone else who may be watching that this is nothing more than a mutual agreement of truce between two people.

 

However, the intense eyes and deadpan look on Cor's face indicates that they have reached ANYTHING but a truce.

 

Regis still tries to regain control of the situation.

 

"I realize we were never properly introduced. Regis Lucis Caelum."

 

"Cor Leonis."

 

Cor just doesn't stop that intense look directed at him. Regis starts to feel sweat prickle at the back of his neck.

 

"Are we good now Cor?"

 

Not one to easily trust others, Cor raises an eyebrow.

 

"It's not like we were anything in the first place, but if you want to be, okay."

 

Clarus tries and fails to hold in a snicker.

 

Regis holds his tongue, reminding himself that his goal is to build a bridge with the boy, not outsnark him. It was hard.

 

A peace offering-he should have brought one of those, but the only thing he had on him was-no. It was perfect. There was no better person he could hand them over to.

 

He pulls a small velvet box the size of a pencil case out of the armiger.

 

Regis puts it in Cor's hands with a mischievous smile on his face.

 

"Here. Peace offering. Be careful with them, tell me how they are later."

 

Regis then hastily drags off a sputtering Clarus with a brief farewell to Silex and a promise to meet up later with Cor. They disappear into the elevators, Clarus still choking on his protests as Regis has put an arm around his neck in a friendly albeit threatening manner.

 

Cor looks at the case in his hands, suspicious.He can feel Silex watching him curiously.

 

He opens it carefully, expecting something to jump out, maybe something slimy or scaley or had more than four legs.

 

Instead he sees shiny, glowy marbles inside. He opens it fully, and Silex gasps.

 

"My my, would you look at that."

 

Twelve. There are twelve pretty glass marbles within. Three sets of different colors, four of each, nestled in satin padding

 

One set has a glowy red-orange-yellow center, like burning embers. The other set has bright purple and gray sparks. The last set has a bluish white soft glow. They were so pretty.

 

"Are these?"

 

"Yes, they look like elemental flasks. Though much, much smaller."

 

Cor picks a tiny thundara up and inspects it between his fingers, watching the tiny sparks dance within.

 

"Do you think-"

 

Of course Lapis chooses this very moment to ambush them, clapping a hand around Silex's shoulders and jostles Cor in his boisterous enthusiasm.

 

The pretty purple marble slips from his fingers.

 

Cor and Silex hold their breaths as the small glass sphere hits the floor-which is carpeted, thank Six. 

 

Cor snaps the case shut and darts after the runaway mini-thundara when it rolls under the heavy leathered boot of none other than Marshal Ares walking beside King Mors.

 

Crunch.

 

Cor only has a fraction of a second before his eyes roll up and he hits the ground convulsing, along with the current king, his retinue, and a very angry Marshal.

 

...

 

Cor gets punished of course, but he doesn't tell them that the miniature-sized but full-strength thunder spell came from Regis.He found out later that of course those marbles had been banned because from use within the Citadel. That was because an infamous prankster kept using them and so did the other guards, they were also easy to lose and the obvious threat if children found them. And of course that didn't stop Regis from making them-to giving them to Cor.

 

This meant something right? Although Cor wasn't sure at this moment if Regis liked him or loathed him.

 

Well, he certainly had the chance to find out now since his punishment was to stand outside Regis' quarters. Apparently the prince was grounded. He's lucky, Cor thinks. Endangering the King's life-albeit indirectly, would normally result in a death sentence. Attempted regicide was a crime after all. There was a pun to be made here and Cor was sure the prince had that already figured out.

 

Since all five of them unsuspectingly hit with the full force if a thundara, they were rushed to the Citadel's infirmary together and shared a ward, even the king. It was... not pleasant. Most of them were itching to get out, save for Silex who seemed to enjoy the down time. Marshal Ares, having stepped on the blasted marble got the worst of it and was understandably the most pissed. Mors, for all his quarrel with his son had apologized profusely on his behalf and had to practically order Ares down-by pulling rank.

 

And so here he was, a fourteen year old standing guard outside the room of a very devious nineteen year old prince. This was his chance to find out if the Prince did despise him or not-if he dared to ask. But Cor wasn't comfortable, he didn't want to ask. He didn't want to worry about such trivial things. All he wanted to do was his job, and that was to watch over the king, destroy whatever came charging at him, and raze battlefields. Simple.

 

Cor sighs. He was stuck here for at least a month. Which was not too bad. Unlike Regis, who was grounded indefinitely. He was only allowed to go to meetings, lessons and training sessions, and nowhere else. That was harsh.

 

The Prince, infamous prankster, royal pain in the ass, was sulking.

 

No, he did not believe that he deserved to be grounded. His creation was perfect, it's uses limitless. Yes he used it for fun, but that shouldn't take away from his creation's good points! How dare they ban it!

 

Maybe if the spells were stronger, they'd give it another look. He'll put level 99 quintcast blizzaga-firagas - and blizzaga-thundagas in his next batch. He just needs to get his hands on more glass marbles. If he could just convince Clarus to buy them for him. But then.

 

Regis glares at the stacks upon stacks of paperwork and books on the table. They expected him to finish this within the week. He could finish it all in less than an hour with a firaga cast for sure.

 

Clarus has been effectively banished to the training grounds throughout Regis' exile. It was also a well known fact that Regis could coerce Clarus to do anything for him. He was, in a sense, Regis' enabler, or gopher, or slave, depending on who you were asking. Maybe he could bribe whoever was watching over the door. Surely the new recruits orwhatever geezer was out there would like to get in good graces of the prince, aka the future king, right?

 

It was a bit concerning, how being a Crownsguard was seen as an easy paycheck, and how ambitious or power hungry some of the more recent guards were. Because that meant that those who came for money or career could be bought, their loyalties changed and drifted towards whichever direction was favorable to them.

 

Regis had plans of building a task force or an army that answered directly to him. He'd give them cool warping powers and elemental magic and call them KingsGuard or something cooler. That would be one of his first priorities as King.

 

He walks over to the door, ready to turn the charm up to max, ready to sweet talk whoever guard was outside the door to let him out. Regis was prepared to flirt, to wine and dine, to beg-well maybe not. He could always warp out the window, but he'd be very, very visible to anyone in the Citadel who bothered to look out their window.

 

Regis turned the knob and pulled the door open just enough to peek. The guard standing outside visibly stiffened at hearing the door creak.

 

Normally the guard should turn around and see if the prince needed anything, but this guard kept his gaze steadily ahead.

 

Regis stares at the young guard's profile. He's squinting and he can't really tell who it is from behind just yet. Then he sees the sword. His eyes widen and he quickly shuts the door, moving away from it as if it burned him.

 

Cor hears the door slam shut and sighs. Well, that's it then. The Prince definitely hated him.

 

Regis paces. Unfortunately the one guarding his door was the one who didn't actually have any reason to try to get in his good graces, so bribing and flirting was off the table. No wait. This could work. If Regis was to get to know and build something of a relationship with the young boy, now was as good a time as any. They were both obviously being punished, and surely he was as miserable-if not more than the Prince was. Alright then. He was doing this.

 

The second time the door creaked, it flew wide open and inside was a smug looking Regis. Cor froze yet once again. He should have expected this.The Prince was obviously planning something.

 

"Cor. I'm so happy that you're here."

 

Cor literally felt his hackles rise.

 

"Your Highness. Good morning." Stiff. Sterile. Safe.

 

"Come now, none of that formality. Come, come in." Regis purred.

 

"I can't Highness, I'm on guard duty. I'm not supposed to leave my post."

 

"You are allowed to patrol, yes? If I'm not mistaken, you're allowed to move within a 30 meter radius. "

 

Cor finally turns, regarding him with all the suspicion that a fourteen year old could muster. It was cute.

 

"Besides, there's guards posted at the elevators, and at the exits. Plus guards at every floor, not to mention the ones stationed at the ground floors, entrance, driveways and the gate. At ease Cor. Don't make me pull rank."

 

Cor huffs softly. The Prince was right-not in all points but maybe he'd stop if Cor acquiesced. Regis holds the door open, posed to welcome Cor in. As Cor steps in, it doesn't escape his notice that the smile on the Prince's face grew Cheshire-like. He'd better be on his guard, just in case.

 

Regis motions for him to sit on the plush couch. Cor selects one that is farthest from the Prince. If Regis thinks anything of it, he doesn't say. Instead, he steps over to a small fridge hidden beside the sofa.

 

"Soda or juice? If you prefer coffee I have that too."

 

"I'll have rootbeer if you have any."

 

Regis slides a cold can across the coffee table. Then he moves to a cabinet beside the fridge.

 

"Salted, barbecue, sour cream and cheese, seaweed or wasabi?"

 

"I haven't tried wasabi before."

 

A bag of potato chips fly towards him. Regis then opens the gilded wooden box on the coffee table. Cor doesn't know what he was expecting but wasn't surprised that it was full of chocolate, sour gummy candies, and packets of cookies.

 

Regis then settles on the lounge across him, his own bag of chips in hand as well as a can of lemon soda.

 

"I've also got dip,ice cream, pizza, and ooh, chocolate sauce." He pulls the bottle out and puts some on a plain salted chip before popping it into his mouth. He makes a face. "Could use some ice cream..." He murmurs

 

Cor watches Regis carefully, as he opens his own chips and pries open his can. He puts a chip in his mouth. The wasabi kicks the back of his throat and it goes all the way up his nose. He coughs and reaches for his rootbeer with watery eyes.

 

"That is strong" he chokes.

 

"It's good isn't it?" Regis chuckles.

 

Cor puts his rootbeer down.

 

"What am I doing here your Highness?"

 

"Call me Regis, please."

 

Cor's facial expression can only be described as 'constipated'.

 

Regis wants to laugh but holds it in. The boy was so uncomfortable it was endearing. The urge to tease came naturally, but that would not help him with his goal. No.

 

"So how were the marbles? Did you like them?"

 

Cor stiffens in his seat, clenching his fists. "Why did you give them to me?"

 

"Tell me what you think about them first."

 

"They're good, easy to carry and conceal. Good for traps, bad for idiots. Pretty strong too. I don't like them."

 

Regis sputters at him. "You didn't like it because you got hit with it. You were an idiot."

 

"You didn't really include any instructions, Highness. You asked what I thought. I didn't ask to be insulted."

 

Regis smiles. "I'm making a stronger one."

 

Cor's eyebrows furrow. "I'm not sure that's wise. Aren't they banned? Why did you give me contraband marbles?"

 

"It was a present, a peace offering. So you could use them, or not. They do make an excellent night light."

 

"You gave me illegal marbles, as a peace offering." Cor repeated slowly, looking at Regis as if he was a child who didn't understand traffic laws.

 

"Yes I did. And they are not illegal. Their use is currently being debated."

 

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure they've been outlawed."

 

"No they haven't. I'm going to make these babies so strong, they can't be ignored. And you're gonna help me."

 

 _Straight face Cor, just like Silex told you_.

 

"I don't think the lack of strength is the issue here, and who says I'm gonna help you?"

 

"I do."

 

"I don't."

 

"You and I are going out for a little bit."

 

"No we aren't."

 

Regis ignored him to grab his phone and dials.

 

"Hello, good morning Libby... Nah. You don't need to send up lunch. I got distracted by all the paperwork... I had too many snacks-chips and pizza... No, I'm sorry. You are the best cook the Citadel has ever seen, and I don't want to waste food because I'm too full to eat... That'd be a crime Libby... Think of all the hungry children... Alright, I'll put in a good word for you... You could just tell her that you like her already and end your suffering... Seriously... Fine. Oh, do you have those egg custard tart thingies?... This afternoon... Alright. You're the best Libby. Thanks.

 

Cor makes to ask another question but Regis dials another person.

 

"Hey Cid. Yeah I need to call in another favor... Yeah can you drive the car out back?... Same place behind the Founder's ridiculously huge garden... Yup, that Blindspot behind the trees. Please remember to leave the windows open this time. I don't want to sit on broken glass-twice was enough thank you very much. You'll have to fix it anyways... See you in 15."

 

 

Cor has munched all his wasabi chips and sipped the last of his rootbeer by the time Regis is done on the phone. He looks pleased. This was not good.

 

"You aren't going anywhere, your Highness." Cor says firmly.

 

"So you say. Come on. Let me show you what I've been working on." Regis grabs his arm and leads him down the hallway to an adjacent room. Cor stiffens yet again, but lets the Prince lead him. He thinks back to when they first met.

 

"Forgive my son. He is stubborn and can be vicious, but he means well. His heart is usually in the right place even if his execution needs improvement. Please try to get along with him." Mors had said, after he calmed down.

 

The King would always have a soft spot for the Prince, but that was buried under grief, duties, responsibilities, and exhaustion. Even this extended disagreement they had was taking its toll on him.

 

And so Cor would make the effort to get along with this Prince. He was nothing like Mors. That was both good and bad. Cor knew that Regis would ascend one day. Hopefully everyone would be on better terms then.

 

Regis opened the door. It was dark inside at first. Then he saw them, the glowing jars. No, wait. It was what's inside of them that was giving off light. It was familiar. Then it clicked. They were filled with glowy marbles. Little magical marbles.

 

Mini thundaras, blizzards, and firagas lighted the room in a soft magical glow. There were so many. _Why are there so many?_

 

Before Cor could say a word, Regis picks one jar up. This one had the familiar glow to it but the color had tinged green sparks. "These are healcasts. The others are killcasts, stopcasts, experience casts, et cetera et cetera."

 

"You kept making these?" Cor says, amazed.

 

"I've been growing and practicing my magic from a very young age and got pretty good at it. I am expected to take over in the future, might as well be prepared." His tone is rather sad, thoughtful.

 

"And what are you gonna do? Chuck marbles at the Nifs til they surrender?"

 

The Prince laughs. "If that's what it takes."

 

"You have much more, don't you?"

 

"Yep, much more stored away in the armiger. I've had years to practice. Here, take these."

 

Regis gives him what looks to be several bullet cartridges.

 

"I don't use a gun-oh."

 

The cartridges are filled with more deadly marbles.

 

"These ones are thundaga-blizzagas, blizzaga-firagas, and firaga-thundagas. Such a mouthful really."

 

Cor looks at him, confused.

 

"That means there's more than one element in them."

 

"As if they weren't deadly enough already. Wait- why are you giving these to me again?"

 

"So you can use them while you're fighting. If these can help you, then, good. I have a feeling I can trust you. Just don't use them here in the Citadel... or in Insomnia."

 

Cor thinks for a bit. He'll definitely be able to use these. The light at least was definitely pretty. Best be careful then.

 

"Thank you." He says softly.

 

Regis beams, looking like the cat who caught the bird. happily.

 

"I'll give you as many as you need. Come, I have something else to show you."

 

Regis moves toward the corner of a room, where there are cabinets and lockers. He opens a small door-again it is dark inside. Cor can't see, but then again it might be the same as this room. Regis places a hand on his back and leads him in first. The space inside is small, like a cubicle, and empty. Too late he realizes, when the floor gives way and he's sliding down a metal chute, that it was a trap.

 

He really, really isn't looking forward to what Mors, Lapis, Silex, and Ares will have to say about this.

 

...

 

 

Regis knew exactly what he was doing. He wouldn't get into too much trouble as long as he brought a guard with him. Who would be better than the his father's personal 'bodyguard' right? At least this way Clarus would be spared from his shenanigans. Clarus should be grateful Regis was so considerate.

 

He hops in and slides down after Cor. Cid should be there soon. They only had a small window of time to get out of the Citadel, and no one would be checking in on them anytime soon.

 

They land on a pile of leaves, completely submerged in them. Regis barely has enough time to grab Cor as he tries to crawl his way out and put a hand over his mouth to prevent him from calling for help or yelling. Cor's eyes are wide in scandalized disbelief.

 

"Alright, listen to me. You and I are going out, getting some stuff and we'll come right back and no one will know better. If we're found out, we'll be in for a much worse punishment-yes? You.and.me. We're in this together now, you got me?"

 

The boy doesn't react, obviously debating with himself. He nods after a while.

 

"Good. Now keep quiet okay?" Another nod.

 

Regis raises his head above the pile, his in time to see the Crownsguard on patrol disappear into a corner.

 

He turns back to Cor, and puts an arm around his waist. Cor flinches, not knowing what's going on.

 

"I need you to make like a baby koala and hold on tight."

 

"Wha-"

 

Cor doesn't have time to finish before he feels like he's being pulled into a black hole, except that it's all blue, and sparkly.

 

They materialize at the base of a tree surrounded by waist-high shrubs. Cor heaves, insides lurching as he desperately tries not to lose the contents of his stomach. Regis releases a small whine. Cor was wrapped around him like a snake, grip close to bruising. The boy releases him and tries to calm his breaths.

 

Regis gives him a smile that in another situation, maybe another universe, could be described as 'assuring'.

 

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

 

Cor looks at him with watery eyes, like a deer pleading for its life in the face of a truck. 

 

Regis felt his heart melt a bit. There were always stories of new recruits of the Royal Guard losing their lunch and their consciousness after their first warp. The boy was obviously trying to keep it in. How endearing. 

 

"There there. Deep breaths Cor." Regis runs a hand up and down Cor's back. 

"You're doing much better than I did on my first try. I threw up all over mum's dress and sparkly white shoes. I was eight. She was so proud." Regis recalls fondly as he continues rubbing Cor's back. 

"Clarus laughed at me. When I took him on his first warp, I barely had time to push him away before he lost his lunch. Ruined his leather boots though. I never let him forget." Regis chuckles. 

 

Once Cor feels like the world has stopped spinning, he sits up straighter, breathing controlled. He runs a hand over his face, removing the excess moisture at his eyes. "I'm alright. Not gonna hurl. Thanks."

 

"Atta boy. Ready to do it again?"

 

Cor sincerely considers retiring from the Citadel once Regis is crowned.

 

And so they make their own way through the garden, one discreet warp after another. They finally warp into the open window of a car waiting behind a few trees. In a tangled mess of limbs, twigs, leaves, and more than a few blades of grass, they land on the soft leather with little fanfare. A middle aged man with a beard and a cap closes the door after them, whistling a cheerful tune. There's a blanket folded on the seat and Regis wastes no time covering them both in it.

 

"Don't move. Don't make a single sound."

 

The boy freezes, still wrapped around Regis like a baby marsupial.

 

The man gets in the driver's seat and turns on the radio, whistling along as they go through security at the gates.

 

"Didn't tell me you were bringing company Reggie."

 

"It was a spur of the moment thing." The Prince finally relaxes, pulling the blanket from his head. Regis gets up. Cor doesn't.

 

"Thought you'd be able to steal Clarus away for something like this."

 

"Nah, Clarus would cry if I dragged him into this while we were under punishment."

 

"This one's Mors' new kid right?"

 

"Yup. Cid, this is Cor. Cor, meet Cid, my godfather and once King Mors' closest friends."

 

Cor groans his response, hand weakly reaching out in a pathetic attempt at a waive.

 

"Nice to meet'cha kid. Reggie's dad and I are childhood friends. That doesn't go away. He's just been busy for the last three decades or so."

 

Regis snickers. "If you say so."

 

"You should let the kid rest a bit. He's pale as death."

 

"Never doing that again." Cor rasps weakly as he closes his eyes. 

 

"Never say never Cor. Especially not to me." Regis smiles. Cor doesn't even want to begin thinking about the implications of that.

 

And so Cor decides to lie back down, willing the world to stop spinning. His head was resting on the Prince's thigh, long slender fingers combing through his short hair. He relaxes

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blurb
> 
> Oh gods there's a part two to this because Regis has no self control and neither does the universe or the author of this fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Cor Leonis deserves all the love in the world.


End file.
